“License and registration,” the shorter officer said, his tone clipped. “I’m Officer Bradley, and this is Officer Walker.”
Gus handed over the documents. “Why’d you pull me over? I wasn’t speeding.”
Officer Walker studied him. “Are there any weapons or drugs on the bus?”
“No,” Gus said evenly. “Not that I know of.”
Walker nodded but his expression remained unreadable. “Mind if we take a look around?”
Jamie glanced at Clayton, unsure if refusing was even an option.
After a moment Bradley and Walker stepped past them and made their way down the narrow aisle. They peeked behind curtains, opened a few compartments, and disappeared into the bedroom.
Jamie drummed her fingers on the armrest, shifting in her seat. What the hell were they looking for? They weren’t exactly cartel leaders.
A minute later Officer Bradley’s voice came through his radio. “All clear.”
Gus got up, his patience thinning. “You still haven’t told me why you pulled us over.”
Walker pulled out his phone. “Your license plate.”
Gus crossed his arms. “It’s registered in Tennessee.”
Walker turned his phone so Gus could see the screen. “Then why does it say POTUS and have DC plates?”
Gus blinked. “That’s not ours.”
“I took this picture when I pulled you over,” Walker said flatly.
Jamie leaned forward. Their tour bus? That made no sense.
Bradley flipped open a notebook, scribbling something down. “Where are you headed?”
“Jacksonville,” Gus said.
“For what purpose?” Bradley barely glanced up as he wrote.
“We’re on tour,” Clayton cut in. “We’ve got a show there on Friday.”
Bradley’s pen halted mid-word. His gaze flicked up. His brow furrowed. Then his eyes widened. “Oh my God.” He pointed at Clayton. “Are you . . . wait. Are you Clayton Langley?”
Clayton looked amused. “Yeah.”
Bradley’s entire demeanor shifted. He quickly tore a page from his notebook and held it out. “Could I, uh, could I get an autograph?”
“Sure.” Clayton chuckled and took the pen. “Who should I make it out to?”
“Aaron,” Bradley said, his fanboy excitement barely contained.
Walker, still unimpressed, exhaled loudly. “Right. That’s nice. But can someone explain why you have a presidential license plate on this bus?”
Before anyone could answer a blur of navy and chrome roared past them, horn blaring. Jamie turned just in time to see Mr. Blue rolling down the highway, honking its horn.
Jamie groaned.Of course.
“I think our band just pranked us,” she muttered, torn between irritation and admiration. Johnny was pissed after his guitar strings had been swapped—rightly so.
Walker shook his head. “You shouldn’t play games like this. Impersonating Ground Force One is a federal offense.”
